


overexposed to the undertow

by ChaosMidge (NotQuiteInsane)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, POV Barrett Racket, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Slavery, Spanking, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, another other london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteInsane/pseuds/ChaosMidge
Summary: Hamid lets a veryinterestingword slip and Barrett takes full advantage.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Barret Racket
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: Another Other London





	overexposed to the undertow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyBlueColors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyBlueColors/gifts).



> Thanks Rome for being a bunch of enabling degenerates.
> 
> I refuse to edit and the only reason this one, out of the document of over 20k words, is being published is because I _don't_ have to edit this.
> 
> Peace, love, and Rome. *blows a bubble and throws up a peace sign*
> 
> Title from Novacaine by 10 Years.

Hamid is naked and sweaty and has his hands tied up and out of the way because he's been so _touchy_ today and honestly you can't be bothered with that.

You've been going through a few problems in your head over the last hour, trying to figure out the logistics of the current territorial disputes and have just about gotten to the point of calculating acceptable casualties for that war when Hamid does something truly unexpected.

Which is strange because honestly, in retrospect, you should have expected it from him. From this whole situation. But as much as having this little dragonling, son of a banker, greedy little pet, has been a bucket of fun and an interesting diversion, it hasn't been _surprising_ in the least. He's a spoiled little thing, wracked with indecision and identity issues and conflicting, contradictory moralities that you can't be arsed to care about for the most part. It's enough to be able to fuck him through his tears and drag orgasms out of him that he looks like he wants to regret.

He _wants_ to regret them, yes, but never quite manages to.

Because for all your flaws, you are quite good on the manipulation front. You know how to work bodies and minds into a frenzy that they can't resist and it's satisfying to see the fruits of your labor in the sweat and slick and tears.

That doesn't mean you care for him.

It just means that you're proud of your achievements.

After all, you've done quite a lot in your years.

But this little halfling has surprised you now. This is not an outcome that you'd worked toward and the one word—that singular word—is enough to pull a stutter of your hips from you that you didn't plan on.

"Daddy, please!"

You're fairly certain that your expressions are a magic mirror—his as horrified as yours is amused.

"Daddy, is it?" You twist your hips and drive your cock just that little bit deeper inside him. With how he's straddling your lap, slick and open and trembling with the need to come, it's a surprise that you can go deeper. But you hit a place inside him that makes him moan and clench around you very prettily.

Hamid's eyes are squeezed shut now and he's shaking his head from side to side, soaked curls endearingly stuck to his forehead. "No, no, I'm sorry it was a mistake, I didn't mean—"

"Do you want to be my little boy, Hamid? Do you want Daddy to split you open on his fat cock?" You punctuate these last words with a thrust of your hips that makes your thighs burn, but it's worth it to see the way that Hamid's face goes slack for just a moment, just long enough for the embarrassment to be wiped aside by tormented pleasure. The conflicting expressions war for dominance and you decide—face split in a grin that could be described as either feral or victorious—that Hamid's dignity is an acceptable casualty of war.

"I didn't—I don't—" Hamid is positively squirming under this renewed attention. You've been distracted for the last little while, sure, but it's not like fucking your toy is the point of this. It's a nice side effect of having him tied up in your bed and unable to run or resist—like he'd even want to—but you're here as a nice break from work and to knock loose the thoughts that have been a jumbled mess since this morning.

But this? This is too interesting not to focus on. And you'll be damned if you let him escape from this hole he's dug for himself.

"No, no, boy," you croon, dragging your hands up from his tiny hips and up to the curve of his shoulders. You pull him downward as you thrust up and feel his slick walls constrict around you at how deep you're fucking him now. "Continue. Tell daddy about it. Do I resemble your father? Is that it? Or do you just want to be taken care of like a spoiled little boy? Well," you say, letting out a little chuckle, "we both know that daddy only cares about himself. This little boy is just here to warm my cock and make pretty noises for me."

You feel, rather than hear, the hitch of Hamid's breath when you say this last.

Bingo.

"After all, daddy's not here to coddle his little boy," you whisper to him. Your hands come down to play with his nipples, the little gold rings you'd put in some months ago glinting nicely in the lamplight. "Daddy's here to do work and teach you how to be a good boy, isn't he?"

Hamid's eyes are still closed, but his lower lip is trembling, the dark blush so pretty across his cheeks that you want to capture this image in your mind forever. He looks so broken, so wholly humiliated by the words falling from your mouth that he could die.

"Now, are you going to be a good boy for me?" You lean forward and take the lobe of one of his ears--also pierced through with a tiny gold ring—between your teeth and bite. Your next words are directly into his ear. "Are you going to help daddy come?"

Hamid whimpers.

That's the ticket, then.

You do the math in your head and the equation balances.

"Want to be of use to daddy?" You move your hands back down to his hips and begin moving him slowly, tantalizingly up and down on your cock. You're pretty sure this is the hardest you've been in ages, at least since the first couple times you had this warm little thing in your bed. Whether it's because of this particular situation, the power inherent in it, or the delicious, vicious sense of grinding Hamid down to his most basic variables, you don't know. You just know that this is going to be a wonderful thing to explore in the coming days—weeks, even.

"You want to help daddy with his work? Want to keep his cock warm and wet inside you as he uses you to get off? Want to feel him come hot and deep while you squeeze around him? Want to make daddy feel so good?"

The flush across Hamid's cheeks has moved down his neck and chest and you can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves. He's biting his lip between his teeth, his throat working rapidly--to keep from making more noises? To keep from saying anything?

Well, that won't do.

"Baby boy needs to tell me what he's thinking," you say, pushing your face into the side of his neck, licking and biting the array of brass scales there. "Needs to tell daddy what's on your mind or daddy is going to be cross." This last is punctuated with a particularly harsh snap of your hips and by digging your fingers into his skin hard enough that they will bruise.

But Hamid shakes his head again, the barest of movements, but enough to send a small spike of irritation through you.

This won't do.

"Then I guess daddy's little boy will be getting a spanking." Your hands move from his hips to his rear and you can feel Hamid begin to shake in your arms, so close that you can feel how his breath picks up and his heartbeat races beneath the skin. "How many for a punishment? Five slaps to your pretty little bum? Make you nice and red?"

"Pl—"

Your hand comes down on one cheek and the sound of it echoes out through the room. More importantly, the feeling of Hamid squeezing around you and the bounce of his little body at the force of the strike makes you throb.

"Count for me, baby boy."

"O-one," Hamid grits out, the first word he's said in quite a few minutes. You reward him with a little jerk of your hips.

Your hand falls again on the same cheek and Hamid squeaks, "Two!"

You rub the rapidly heating flesh with your palm, making him feel the way the skin must be stinging. He shifts just a little bit and that's when you bring your other hand up from under his other cheek in the next strike.

"Three—" But the count trails off in a helpless little sound when you time your next hit with a particularly hard thrust. Hamid sobs and he's so overwhelmed that when the words fall from his throat, you can't help but smile at, "Four, daddy! Four!"

"One more, sweet thing," you mutter in his ear, rubbing the burn of his cheeks with both hands. "One more and then daddy's going to fuck you for real."

But Hamid is fully lost to the sobbing by now, shoulders and chest heaving, tears falling down his cheeks.

It's almost impossible not to add the barest little caress of your fingers before you pull back for the final strike.

When it falls, it falls across the center of his little arse, the force of it enough to make him scream and squirm on your cock and you have to admit there's something to this. Something to the way he hiccups out, "Daddy, daddy please. Please," as you start to pump into him.

"Your words, boy," you say as a finger feels where you slide in and out of him, slick and dripping and so open for you that it's a compliment, really. "Tell daddy..."

"Please, daddy, please come. Please use me, please, daddy!"

And the litany of pleases and begging and that damnable daddy is enough that you come inside him soon after, the burn of your thighs as satisfying as the rush of come you know he can feel.

And when you sigh and slip out of him, push three fingers inside his tight little body and tell him how good he looks with daddy's come dripping out, Hamid comes embarrassingly quickly, shaking in your arms and crying. It's beautiful when you lick up his cheeks and taste the salt, feel his face scrunch up at the attention, feel his cunt fluttering around your fingers, his tremors matching the satisfied shiver in your spine.

"Good boy," you whisper in his ear as you leave him, still suspended from his arms, and go to clean yourself up.

If you come back and watch him hang there, slick and come sliding down the inside of his thighs and think my good little boy, well, then that's your little secret.


End file.
